


So Many Ways to be Wrong

by Songspinner



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23663026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Songspinner/pseuds/Songspinner
Summary: Just a little character study/retrospective of the time between the Tragedy and the rebellion, from Felix's perspective.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17





	So Many Ways to be Wrong

“Why do they always _die_ at the end of these stories?”

Dimitri looks up from the last page of the tale to see Felix frowning fiercely at the book in the prince’s hands. “What do you mean?”

“Someone always dies. What’s the point of all that fighting to be together when one of them sacrifices themselves anyway? It doesn’t make sense.” The bewildered look on Dimitri’s face makes Felix roll his eyes. “What? It doesn’t!”

“It...doesn’t? But that’s how it’s supposed to go.” Dimitri has read so many of Faerghus’ heroic tales and mythic histories that he can recite a few of them by heart. “The greatest act of love in the world is to sacrifice yourself for your beloved--”

“Why, though?” Felix shakes his head, dislodging a few strands of his long hair from its ponytail. “What good does it do to die saving them if you’re dead and you can’t see them anymore? That’s just stupid.”

“Well, I...I suppose…”

Felix nods and sits back against the seat of the carriage, only satisfied now that Dimitri has admitted he’s right. His gaze drifts out the window, watching the dreary, monotonous snowscape pass them by. The prince always says it’s beautiful, but how beautiful can it be when it all looks exactly the same? Then again, that’s one of the things Felix likes about Dimitri. Lots of things are beautiful to him that no one else spares a second thought for. Felix wishes he could see the world the way Dimitri does.

Despite the monotony, though, he doesn’t want this trip to be over. Once they arrive in Fhirdiad, they’ll only have a few days before the royal family departs for Duscur, and no one’s sure exactly how long they’ll be there. He’s heard it’s dangerous in Duscur. What if something happens to Dimitri there? ...but nothing will, he decides, since Glenn will be there with him. Still, Felix won’t see the prince for all that time. He begged his father to let him come, too, but Rodrigue was adamant that he stay behind and continue his studies and his training.

“Wait a minute,” Dimitri’s quiet voice breaks the few minutes of comfortable silence. “It _isn’t_ stupid--when you sacrifice yourself for a good cause, you go to meet the Goddess, and then your beloved can join you there when it’s their time.” He smiles, as though he’s won a victory.

Felix turns from the window with his face scrunched up in annoyance; Dimitri giggling at the expression doesn’t help. He thought this matter was settled! “Well, _I_ think it’s stupid. If you had to die, I would want to die too, so we could see the Goddess together. But it would be better if I could protect you instead, _and_ stay alive so I could do it again next time.”

Dimitri looks at him like some kind of weird, gaping, red-faced fish with huge blue eyes. “What’s with that face?” Felix asks, confused.

“You...you said…” A smile slowly blooms across the prince’s face, that sweet, awed smile that makes Felix feel warm. “Does that mean I’m your beloved, Felix?”

Felix chokes. “N-no! Shut up! That’s not what I said!”

“Oh. All right.” Dimitri’s smile doesn’t go anywhere, but it seems just a little less sunny than it was a moment ago. That must be Felix’s imagination, though. “Well, beloved or no, I would certainly lay down my life to save yours, Felix. Or Sylvain’s, or Ingrid’s.”

It sounds like he means it to be an uplifting thought, but it just drives a spike of fear through Felix’s gut. “That’s _extra_ stupid,” Felix argues. “You’re the prince. You can’t go around sacrificing yourself for your friends, or for anybody. You’re the _last_ one who’s supposed to die.”

Dimitri swallows, his smile snuffing out like a candle flame. “...yes, of course. I know that. I only meant…” He sighs. “That you mean so much to me, and I couldn’t bear to lose you. That’s all.”

“Well…” Felix thinks he might be blushing, so he folds his arms on the edge of the carriage window and rests his chin in them, hoping they’ll hide it somehow. “You won’t. It’s not _my_ job to protect you, after all. It’s Glenn’s. And he’s too strong to die doing it. He’s the strongest knight there is.”

* * *

In a fortnight’s time, Felix sits by the fire, his eyes glassy and distant as he fixes his gaze on the scuffed, singed suit of armor his father had someone display proudly in the drawing room. Why, he can’t fathom. Is Rodrigue proud that this armor failed to keep Glenn alive? Proud that he probably cooked like an egg inside it, in the flames?

No, he thinks with an unbidden sneer. Rodrigue is proud that Glenn perished for _duty’s_ sake, instead of living long enough to die some common, ordinary death. Proud, apparently, to see his eldest son meet the Goddess so early in his life that he never had a chance to have an heir of his own. Felix feels like ripping the suit of armor apart and burning its pieces in the roaring fire to finish the job once and for all. Assembled on its stand like this, it seems to mock the naked truth of his brother’s death, covering it with a veneer of chivalry and honor, like a sugar coating masking a deadly poison.

The one thing he can be grateful for in this endless nightmare is that Glenn did succeed. Dimitri did survive. He’s the only one, but Felix privately thanks the Goddess for it anyway. If he’d lost Glenn _and_ the prince...well, he didn’t, so there’s no point in considering the alternative.

But Felix hasn’t seen Dimitri at all since Gilbert brought him back to the Kingdom. There’s been too much to do in Fraldarius to leave for the capital, and too much to do in the capital to entertain guests, as they install the king’s brother Rufus as regent. Felix doesn’t even want to think about the fact that one of those things keeping their territory busy is the preparation for Glenn’s pompous, overblown funeral, which Felix just knows is going to be chock full of people praising his brother for the accomplishment of being dead.

All Felix wants to do is get on a horse and ride to Fhirdiad. He wants to see Dimitri in the flesh, to reassure himself that the prince really is alive--especially since they said he was badly injured in the fire. He wants them to be able to share their mutual losses and comfort each other. He wants to be there while Dimitri recovers. And, selfishly, he wants to hear Dimitri’s voice tell him things are going to be all right, even though he knows that the prince has lost even more than he has. He’s considered stealing a mount in the middle of the night and going regardless of his father’s wishes or needs--quite frankly, he doesn’t think he’ll ever want to look at his father’s face ever again, after days of listening to him spout his foolish platitudes to anyone he sees.

But Felix doesn’t leave, not that night, nor the next. Another fortnight passes, and another, and still he has no opportunity to take a break from his new role as the Fraldarius heir to see his crown prince. Every second he spends breathing the same air as Rodrigue feels like torture; they’ve had so many vicious arguments by now that Felix can barely look at him without exploding in rage on the spot, reliving those quarrels in his mind before they happen. And no matter how many times Rodrigue asks “What do you want from me?,” Felix doesn’t have an answer. Maybe the answer is nothing. Maybe he wants nothing at all from his old man.

Maybe all he wants is to see Dimitri.

* * *

He gets his wish soon enough, overjoyed and relieved at first when Dimitri comes to live with them in Fraldarius. But from the moment the prince sets foot on the grounds, Felix can tell something’s not quite right. He chalks it up to grief--they’re both still grieving, still learning their way around their new roles and responsibilities while they _re_ learn their way around each other, with so much loss between them.

There are things Felix desperately wants to say but doesn’t dare to, not while the whole territory is busy tiptoeing around Dimitri like he’s a fragile piece of glass and forgetting Felix exists. He wants to tell Dimitri that when he goes back to Fhirdiad for good--for his coronation--Felix wants to come with him and serve as his Shield. He wants to say that he never plans to let Dimitri out of his sight again. He wants to say, “you mean so much to me, and I couldn’t bear to lose you.” Instead, he tiptoes around the prince like everyone else, because he doesn’t know how to do anything more.

And eventually, things go back to some semblance of normal, but Felix always feels like there’s a wall that comes down between them now, whenever the conversation turns to something personal or to the past. Dimitri is polite and kind and sweet and brave and strong--all the things he always was, all the things Felix has always admired--but sometimes Felix looks into those clear blue eyes and sees an emptiness that frightens him. As though some piece of the prince never returned from Duscur--or as though too _much_ returned with him, a burden that crushes him so thoroughly under its weight that it leaves nothing of him behind.

* * *

Over time, Rufus proves such an ineffective regent that the rebellions that started sprouting up all over the Kingdom even before King Lambert died only grow bolder, and Rodrigue is tasked with mustering forces to put down the worst of them. Common citizens with iron blades are no match for elite knights, so Rodrigue uses the occasion to send Felix and Dimitri both to their maiden battle together, with the prince leading the charge.

For the first time since the Tragedy, words flow easily between them, as they ride out for the western plains with the troops Dimitri is to command. They speak of nothing of particular consequence, but the eve of battle seems to ignite a spark behind Dimitri’s eyes that Felix hasn’t seen in almost two years. It fills him with hope and quiets his worries. Perhaps all the prince needed was the anticipation and thrill of combat to lift his spirits and give him the nudge to put Duscur behind him.

“Do you think they’ll put up much of a fight?” he asks, as they draw close to their destination.

“I certainly hope not,” Dimitri replies, his brows drawing low. “But they are women and men of Faerghus, regardless of status, and should not be underestimated.”

“Underestimating your opponent is a good way to die,” Felix agrees, in his own fashion.

Dimitri smiles. “Just so. We shall take them seriously and we shall not yield, but remember as well that these are our own people, rebels or not. We shall be merciful and kill only when necessary to preserve other lives.”

Felix smirks. “Of course. How long have you been practicing that one, Your Highness?”

The prince’s cheeks flush pink. “Don’t call me that, Felix. I never want _you_ of all people to think of me that way.”

“And what way is that?” It’s Felix’s turn to feel heat rise to his face, but he ignores it.

“As...above you, in any way.” Even through his embarrassment, Dimitri manages to sound like he’s delivering a solemn proclamation. “You’re my friend. More than my friend, really, I--”

Felix’s eyes widen, but before Dimitri can finish his thought, a scout returns and blows the horn to signal the rebels’ approach. In an instant, the gentle, earnest prince becomes the fierce and stalwart commander, as he readies a lance in one gauntleted hand and begins to shout orders. The two of them dismount along with the rest of the infantry, and Felix draws steel as he takes up his position beside Dimitri on the front line. This will be his test, he thinks--the day he rises to the challenge of shielding his prince from danger. It’s in his blood, and in his heart, too. Dimitri didn’t survive Duscur just to bleed out on a battlefield before he’s even crowned. Glenn succeeded at keeping the prince alive; now Felix is going to succeed at keeping them _both_ alive. As many times as it takes.

Felix is aware that these thoughts are not only premature but ridiculous, in this context; their opponents aren’t knights or great warriors, they’re farmers and tailors with simple weapons. Numbers are their only true advantage, and Felix expects Dimitri to lead their forces to quell this insurgence quickly but firmly.

And then, afterward, he can ask Dimitri what it was he was going to say, about being...more than his friend.

* * *

But Felix never gets the chance to ask, not until well past the point when he stops wanting to know.

It doesn’t start out the way it ends. Dimitri fights aggressively, yes, but he always has. Someone wielding the strength of the Blaiddyd Crest can’t help but be aggressive, even occasionally brutal, and Felix is used to that. He’s used to the prince splintering spears in his grasp when he isn’t careful or when his adrenaline runs high. He’s even used to Dimitri sometimes eschewing weapons altogether when he gets in close enough, or enough weapons break--they used to train together with a group, Felix leading a team of three or five to take on Dimitri together, and more often than not it was the prince’s fists that kept him standing under the onslaught by the time the dust cleared. Felix likes that about Dimitri, that he isn’t so blindly married to traditional forms as to be above throwing a punch.

So Felix doesn’t consider that anything might be truly wrong until the point of no return. Until the moment he pivots and delivers a knockout blow with the hilt of his sword to the back of his opponent’s head, expecting Dimitri to step over the unconscious man and move on, and instead sees the prince snarl and reach down with one hand to pick the man up by the _face_ , palming his entire head and lifting him easily until his feet dangle off the ground.

“What are you doing?” Felix hisses, moving to put himself between Dimitri and the next oncoming foe. There’s no response, and it takes Felix two entire seconds to realize the answer, right before the head in Dimitri’s palm bursts like an overripe melon under his vicelike, armored fingers. Felix gasps and stares in shock. “Wh...what--”

And Dimitri laughs. Felix has always loved hearing Dimitri’s laugh, whether soft and musical or helplessly loud and joyous; and it’s happened much less often, ever since the Tragedy. But this is something different, something he’s never heard before and never wants to hear again. It’s low and mean like a growl, and _wrong_ \--it sounds wrong coming out of Dimitri’s mouth, and Felix entertains in his panic the notion that the prince might have been possessed by an evil spirit. He stumbles back, away from Dimitri, even though his every instinct says he needs to be by his prince’s side. He trips over a corpse and doesn’t register until a moment later that there aren’t supposed to _be_ corpses here, the grass shouldn’t be matted with blood and worse things, and he hasn’t noticed until now just how much of a bloody swath Dimitri has been cutting through the field while Felix was busy watching his back.

He falls to his knees and empties his stomach all over the body at his feet, sword still clutched tightly in one hand even as the other one digs into the grass to keep him upright. When he’s finished, he staggers back to his feet and follows this trail of carnage at a remove. Dimitri is in no danger. No one gets within five feet of him without getting ripped apart, and when they run, he chases them down like a rabid beast, impaling them on his lance like the deadly tusk of a wild boar.

Felix is shaking and useless by the time the battle is over. He feels like a coward. A coward who couldn’t bring himself to stop the prince, or pull him back from whatever brink he leapt from, and now it’s too late. He meets Dimitri’s eyes only once before they’re on the road back to Fraldarius, as they’re both saddling their horses, and the prince isn’t laughing anymore. His face is pale and gaunt, his jaw tight and teeth clenched, his eyes dark and haunted, and Felix thinks Dimitri may be looking _through_ him rather than _at_ him. Neither of them says a word, not then and not for the hours it takes to get back.

Felix skips supper to lock himself in his room and cry himself to sleep, huddled in a tiny ball under his blankets, curled up around a pillow that his hands clutch at tightly. He was wrong. Dimitri didn’t survive Duscur. Felix can’t protect his beloved and keep them both alive like he vowed he would, because his beloved is already gone.


End file.
